


Phil Coulson Knows Tony Stark's Super Villain Name

by scifigrl47



Series: Phil Coulson's Case Files of the Toasterverse [15]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Gen, Humor, M/M, Paint ball fights, SHIELD makes poor choices, training missions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-06
Updated: 2014-04-16
Packaged: 2018-01-18 10:29:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1425172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scifigrl47/pseuds/scifigrl47
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The only thing really stopping Tony Stark from attempting to conquer the world is that he wouldn't know what to do with it once he conquered it.  He's still pretty sure he could do it, though.</p><p>SHIELD's pretty sure he could do it, too, and SHIELD is pretty uncomfortable with that.  There's a plan in place, in case Tony makes a try for world domination, or any sort of caped super villainy.  It involves Steve.  No one is surprised.</p><p>This is not that plan.  This is a training exercise, involving paint balls.</p><p>It might end with world domination, anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Фил Коулсон знает супер-злодейское имя Тони Старка // Phil Coulson Knows Tony Stark's Super Villain Name](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3584592) by [Veta_konfeta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Veta_konfeta/pseuds/Veta_konfeta)



> This is pure silliness. This is pure, unadulterated silliness. You've been warned.
> 
> This also contains references to the plan for taking Tony out, should he go villain, that was first brought up in "Ordinary Workplace Hazards." This is not actually the plan, because that would be warning Tony about the plan. This is just SHIELD hitting a slow patch and Nick Fury deciding that they need a challenge.
> 
> Tony Stark counts as a challenge. Especially when you're just armed with paint ball guns.
> 
> It also has the return of my SHIELD minions Harris, Drew and Shawn, and Thor's Darcy Lewis. You've been warned.

“I would like to once again register my objections to this,” Phil Coulson said to the room at large. He let his eyes play off of every person in the room. “I do not think you're taking this with the proper amount of seriousness, and amusing ourselves by poking a beehive with a fully loaded and malfunctioning rifle is a very poor choice. The BEST thing that will happen in this situation is that we end up running through the city screaming, 'bees, bees, so many bees.' The worst thing that will happen is the rifle will go off and we'll end up losing a hand. Or an arm.”

He paused. “Or a head.”

Nick Fury gave Phil a pitying look. “It's an exercise, Phil.”

“It's madness, sir.”

“SHIELD,” Natasha said, her chin resting lightly on her fist, “often has trouble telling the difference.”

“That would explain why we keep you on the payroll, Agent Romanov.”

“Wait, in this analogy, am I the rifle, or the bees nest?” Tony asked, arching an eyebrow. He looked bored. It was a rather thin facade. Phil knew just what that muscle jumping beside his eye meant, and he wasn't looking forward to it. To any of it.

Tony Stark was in a seriously bad mood.

“Things have been a little too quiet,” Fury said, rolling a pen between his fingertips. He had an amused smirk on his face, and Coulson wanted to throw something at his boss' head. It was an impulse that he was careful to control, because it came around every so often.

More often since the Avengers Initiative had been put into effect.

“We need action,” Fury continued, sounding insufferably smug. “A little controllable situation for training purposes. We have a plan for if you go rogue, Stark.”

“See, I don't think this will be controllable,” Phil said, and no one paid any attention to him. Clint gave him a commiserating smile, which was nice, but it didn't really help.

“You mean, if I follow my inevitable path to supervillainy?” Tony asked, a tight, sharp smile on his face. “Have I mentioned how much I love that there is a certain assumption that I will turn to evil at some point, and that everyone just accepts that this is something that has to be planned for.” His fingers beat a rapid fire, rolling tattoo on the front of the arc reactor. “Of course, I'm doubly annoyed by the fact that you think this is something that you can plan for. That you consider me to be that-” He paused, and spat out the word, “Predictable.” There was enough venom in his voice to take down an elephant. “You've been teasing this little thing for months, and I'm getting a little sick of it.”

“Tony,” Steve started, and then seemed to have no where to go with it. He sat back in his chair, sighing. There was a pinched tightness around his eyes, thin lines bracketing his mouth as he tried to broker peace. It wasn't going to happen, everyone in the room knew it wasn't going to happen, but Steve was going to try. “We've done these kind of exercises before.”

“Oh, no, Cap,” Tony said. “We have not done this exercise before. Trust me. I would've remembered doing this exercise before.

Clint and Natasha exchanged a look, and then Natasha went back to studying her fingernails and Clint went back to calculating ricochet angles in his head, because that was what he did when he was trying not to kill someone. If his breathing slowed to a certain point, Coulson was going to have to find a deserted office.

Sometimes, sacrifices had to be made.

“To be fair, friend Tony, you do often speak of such plans, when you have imbibed too deeply,” Thor said, grinning at Tony. “There are few here who have not heard of your intentions.”

“Yeah, you can't just go around explaining about your supervillain name and not expect some people to panic,” Clint said, his lips twitching just a bit. “I mean, people without balls who don't know what you're like when tequila is involved, but still. Panic.”

“It doesn't help that your supervillain name does not inspire confidence,” Natasha commented, one eyebrow arched. 

“Dr. Mildly Overcast is a perfectly good supervillain name,” Tony said, grinning. “Long history of evil scientists.”

“Not so many evil meteorologists,” Fury said. “You're starting your own genre or some shit.”

“I've always been interested in the possibilities inherent in weather control,” Tony said, shrugging. “It's under represented, considering the damage that could be done in a relatively short period of time and a relatively small control area. Effectively, it has a high ratio of bang for the buck.”

“You see? It's discussions like this that make people worry that you will, in fact, decide to attempt world domination,” Natasha told him.

“That sounds like responsibility, and I really despise responsibility,” Tony said.

“Okay,” Steve said, his lips curling up, “It's discussions like this that make people worry that you will conquer the world and then make Pepper run it.”

Tony pointed a finger in his direction. “That, Cap, is far more likely.” He paused. “She'd kill me. That's not an exaggeration. That's a statement of fact. If I tried it, she would kill me with a shoe or something.”

“Sounds like a lot of work,” Steve said, amused as ever by Tony's rambling run of words.

“She's a determined woman.”

“No, I mean, we can lend her a gun.”

Tony glared at him. “You. You are out of the will.”

“Imagine my disappointment.” Steve leaned his chin on one fist.

Fury rapped his knuckles against the table. “It's clear that you are just spoiling for a fight, Stark,” he said, leaning forward. “So why not give us a workout?”

Phil bit back a sigh. Under the table, Clint's foot bumped against his.

Tony's head rolled in Nick's direction. “Because I don't think you'll survive it, and the only thing I want less than being in charge of the world? Is being in charge of SHIELD,” he said, his voice silken.

“I think the uniform would suit you well,” Thor told him.

“You think so?” Tony asked, immediately distracted. “I think the catsuits are a bit over the top, but you know, I've worn worse.”

Fury stood up, bracing his fingers on the tabletop. “Put your money where your mouth is, Stark.”

“And get myself a SHIELD catsuit?” Tony asked.

“And get with the program.”

“What's the program, exactly? Let my own team try to take me down?” Tony gave him a look. “I know a sucker bet when I see one, and I haven't been drinking nearly enough to take it.”

“It's nothing like that,” Fury said. “Just a simple-”

“Training exercise,” Tony said, his eyes flicking towards the ceiling. “Nick. Buddy. Truth time.” He leaned forward. “Do you really think that there is an exercise in the world that can help prepare you for how to handle me if I really decide I'm after your job, let alone your head?”

Fury's teeth flashed in a feral sort of grin. “What's the matter, Stark? Don't wanna show us what you've got?”

Tony glanced at the others. “Well?” he asked.

Thor shrugged. “Things have been quiet, as of late,” he said. He sounded disappointed by that. “I would enjoy a chance for a battle, even one such as this.”

Clint leaned back in his chair. “Don't look at us, Stark, we're used to running training ops when the real thing isn't on offer.”

“Part of SHIELD,” Natasha agreed. Not her favorite part, but she was just as brutally efficient during training as she was in the field.

Tony looked at Steve. Steve folded his hands on the table. “Do you not want to do this?” he asked.

“I don't think you want to do this,” Tony told him.

Steve's eyes narrowed, his lashes dipping low. “I think that it's an exercise that we're going to end up running eventually,” he said at last. “For each of us, honestly.” He gave Tony a half-smile. “Want me to go first?”

“Not at all,” Tony told him.

“It's just paintball,” Fury said. “Low level loads.” His eyebrows arched. “Red and gold for you and anyone on your side, and blue and black for he SHIELD teams.” He grinned, wide and amused. “We've got the supplies all set and ready to go.”

“Oh, I'm well aware of your little stockpile.” Tony shook his head. “In fact, I rather suspected this was going to be your play today, since Bruce wasn't part of this little meeting. So even you realize that putting the Hulk in the line of fire is a bad idea.” He reached for his coffee cup. “You do realize that doing this in your headquarters is going to lead to a hell of a mess?”

“Controlled mess,” Fury said. “I've got a crew on call, they'll handle it.”

Tony sighed. “Fine, since everyone here seems to think it's a great idea to have a fight in SHIELD headquarters with paint pellets, let's clarify the terms. You win by taking me down. How do I win?”

“Get to my office and get the name plate off of my desk,” Fury said. He spread his hands. “Easy as that.”

“We're stipulating full combat situation? Bruce is not part of this? All 'painted' parties are immediately out of the game? And you want to know how your adorable little cub scouts would handle me if I really went rogue?” Tony glanced at Fury. “Is that all correct?”

“Yes.”

Tony stood up and leaned forward to put a hand on Phil's shoulder. “Stop this,” he said.

“I wish I could,” Coulson said, rubbing his forehead.

“It's a training op,” Fury said, and he sounded amused, and Coulson wanted to kick him in the shins, because this was not going to end well, he could tell already that it wasn't going to end well, but Fury was a little too smug sometimes. And his grudge match with Tony Stark was going to end up having a hell of a lot of collateral damage.

“Fine. I tried to warn you.” Tony's hand flicked out, and Phil had an instant to recognize that there was a gun in his face and then there was a sharp, hard impact in the middle of his forehead. Two pops, and Phil was knocked back in his chair, his weight dragging it backwards. He heard Clint yell, and tried to grab the table, but it was too little, too late. Phil crashed to the floor in an unfortunate sprawl of limbs.

Even as he was going down, Tony caught his briefcase with his foot and kicked it up. He spun it onto the table and it hit with a thump. “Bomb,” he announced, his voice calm, and then he was sprinting away from the table. Everything seemed to go into slow motion.

Natasha had been in the act of lunging for him, and Steve grabbed her around the waist, pulling her back, his free hand snagging his shield and swinging it up in front of both of them. Thor jumped over the table, and Clint was down on one knee, staring down at Phil when Tony brought up one repulsor-covered hand, blew out the window and simply hit the shattering glass at a dead run.

He was out the window and gone when the briefcase popped open, throwing red and gold ink in all directions.

There was a moment of stillness, and then Natasha said something amazingly filthy in Russian.

Phil sighed from the floor. “This was the worst idea you've ever had, sir,” he said. He struggled up into a sitting position, and let Clint check his forehead. “It's fine. Low power rounds. He knew he had to be at point blank range to get me before any of you could take him out, so it barely stung.” He reached up to touch his forehead; his fingers came away stained with gold ink. “Lovely.”

Thor stood over the table, his blinking eyes the only part of him not covered in paint. “What has occurred here?” he asked.

Steve released Natasha and lowered his shield. “Oh, this is going to go poorly,” he sighed, glancing around. Other than a bit of red in his hair, they were clean.

There was a faint crackle, and a voice came from the ruined remains of the briefcase. “Just to review,” Tony said smoothly, “Steve rescued Natasha, and Clint went for Coulson, so they were unaffected. And because I wouldn't have put enough of a charge to bring down the building, I'm not a MONSTER, Thor will survive that direct hit. He will, however, be out of commission for at least an hour. I think we can agree that is fair. Fury, you were likely clipped down the right side, but let's pretend that you survived, because, honestly, I want you to suffer. There are not words for how I want you to suffer, so get a sling, soldier.

“Phil, buddy, sorry. But you've gotta be taken out first. There's no other way this works. I go the villain route, and I put a bullet in you. Step one of any evil plot: kill Coulson.”

“I'm flattered,” Coulson said, getting to his feet. “Thank you for sparing the suit.”

“That's what friends are for. Oh, and by the way? Jarvis, initiate Operation Crop Duster. Ciao, darlings.”

Fury stood there, paint dripping down his right arm. “I really, really hate that man.”

Iron Man appeared in the broken window. “I hate you, too.” With a blast of the repulsors, he was gone.

“HILL!” Fury roared, stomping for the door. “We need troops mobilized NOW.”

“The son-of-a-bitch planned this,” Clint said, shaking his head. “Of course he did.” His phone rang in his pocket and he pulled it out.

“Fury's been making noises about it for far too long,” Natasha pointed out, her voice pitched low. “Tony's had plenty of time to plan.”

“How far reaching are his plans?” Phil asked, rubbing the sore spot on his forehead.

“Pretty far,” Clint said. He held up his phone. “It's Logan. Apparently? A paint bomb just went off in Forge's workshop out at Xavier's.” His eyebrows arched. “Wanna bet a similar package was sitting in Reed's shop and Mr. Stretchpants is also sporting a tie-dyed uniform right about now?”

Steve was leaning out the window, the shield still held securely in one hand. “I think the odds are pretty good. I cannot believe he went out the window.” 

“I can,” Clint said. “I would've gone out the window, too.”

“At least he has the armor to catch him,” Natasha said, staring down at the remains of the briefcase.

Suddenly, Thor started to laugh. “Oh, this is going to be a mighty battle,” he said, chortling. 

“This,” Coulson said, staring at nothing in particular, “is going to go so badly. Thank God it's no longer my problem.”

*

“This job is worth it for no other reason than this cafeteria. I am not kidding. I would do unreasonable things for this organization if the agreed to continue feeding me.” Drew hunched over his bowl of miso soup, his eyes at half mast, his cheeks flushed. “Unreasonable, possibly illegal things.”

Darcy settled into her chair, setting her tray down in front of her. “We all have our breaking point,” she said. “And yours is pathetically low.”

“Says the woman who flirts with the sushi chef to get the good stuff,” Drew said. He moved his chair to the side, giving Shawn space to set his own tray down. Shawn was always late to lunch, and usually had a file folder or two under his arm. Today, he was balancing his lunch on top of a couple of binders, and it took effort for him to get everything onto the table without losing half of his soup.

“I work with what I have.” Darcy separated her chopsticks with a snap. “And what I have is fantastic.”

“What am I doing here?” Harris asked. He seemed uninterested in the answer; his focus was entirely on his sandwich. “Actually, I was here first. What are all of you doing here?”

“You, sir, are the token straight person at this table,” Drew said. He grinned at Harris. “We have to keep one around or the establishment will figure out our cunning plan.”

“We have a cunning plan?” Shawn asked. He was happily dumping chili oil into his bowl of noodles. “When do I get to find out what it is?”

“Never. You'll break under questioning.”

“Hey,” Shawn said, his brow crinkling. “I will not.”

Drew's look held a lot of pity. “Honey, all they would have to do was get your mother to ask the questions and you'd be telling them everything in, like, five minutes or less. You'd crack like an egg in a vise.”

“Well, yeah,” Shawn said. “But my mother would be a double agent, so I'm not sure-”

“Hey, wait, if Harris is the token straight, what am I? Chopped liver?” Darcy asked. She applied soy sauce with a liberal hand. 

“Oh, please, you're bi if you're anything,” Drew told her. He reached across the table and snatched a piece of perfectly formed salmon sushi. He popped it in his mouth with a smirk.

“True,” Darcy said, slapping at his hand when he tried for another piece. “Try and steal my food, and I will stab you to death with your own chopstick, baby.”

“Are you really?” Shawn asked.

“Yeah,” Darcy said. She grinned around her chopsticks. “I mean, I lust after boys more, but all of my, like, long term relationships? Girls. Always girls. From the time I was in high school.” She shrugged. “It's a thing. I don't really question it any more.”

“Any prospects?” Drew asked.

“Nah, Harris won't put out,” Darcy said, because she loved the look that Harris always gave her when she said these things. It was the best mix of 'please don't involve me,' and 'you're nuts,' that she'd ever seen on a human being's face. Darcy grinned at him, unconcerned. “What? You won't. I've been working some of my best material here, and nothing. It's starting to wear on my self-esteem.”

“It's not that I don't like you,” Harris said, his lips twitching, just a tiny bit, “It's just that I suspect that if I give in to you, it will only end with me in jail, or in a mental institution, or fleeing across Antarctica pursued by rabid badgers or something,” Harris said Darcy. He turned to Drew and Shawn. “It will not end well. Please see to it that she is arrested.”

“We'll avenge you,” Drew agreed.

“Harris! I'm hurt. I am so hurt right now. You? Me? This thing between us? Over forever,” she said, one hand pressed against her chest, her most practiced sad puppy look on her face. “You are no gentleman.”

Harris wasn't impressed. “Or maybe,” he said, “you're just too much of a lady for me.”

“Oh, nice. Fine. I accept your apology.”

“I wasn't-”

“And half of your chips. Y' know, as a court ordered settlement for emotional damages.” She reached for the bag, and, laughing, Harris pushed them in her direction. She took one, crunching it with gusto, and licked the salt from her fingertips. “So, anyone want to see a movie this weekend?”

“Are you inviting yourself along on our date?” Drew asked her.

“I'll bring Harris,” she said. “C'mon, he's adorable.”

“He's really not,” Harris said.

“Actually, you are.” Drew tapped a finger against his pursed lips, pretending to consider it. “Fine, I accept your offering of a cute boy.”

“I'm right here,” Shawn said, trying not to laugh. “You helpless flirt, I am RIGHT HERE.”

“What? You're invited, too,” Drew said, patting him on the shoulder.

“Imagine my relief,” Shawn said.

Darcy waited for Harris to object, but he wasn't paying attention. His head was craned up and to the side, his eyes narrowed. “Have you ever seen this many of the Roombas in one place before?” he asked.

Darcy followed his gaze. “Uh, probably?” she said, considering the little robotic vacuum cleaner as it floated past. “Oh, it's Bob! Stark must be rotating them out from the tower, I know that one.”

“You 'know' that one?” Shawn asked her. “How- What does that mean?”

“Some of them have names,” Darcy explained. Life in the Tower was weird. But mostly awesome. “And, it's hard to explain, but they've got personalities, you get used to it if you are around them enough.” She went back to her sushi. “There's a ton of them, Harris. Like, fifty of them.”

“Yeah, but I've never seen more than two or three at a time,” Harris said. He stood up, slowly, his chair scraping against the floor. “And there must be...” His head turned, and his body followed it, doing a full circle as he looked around the room. “There must be a couple of dozen in here. Why are there so many Roombas in here right now?”

Darcy glanced over her shoulder, just in time to see a couple of field agents duck out of the way of a Roomba. They sidestepped another, their conversation never even skipping a beat. “Dunno,” she said, before popping another piece of sushi into her mouth. The burn of wasabi brought tears to her eyes, and she fanned her fingers in front of her mouth. “Maybe they're interested in the daily special.”

“The thing is,” Harris said, his voice distant, as if he wasn't really talking to them any more, “their network doesn't need proximity to function, and the building's so big that they end up pretty spread out, by necessity. They don't show up in numbers and yet they are, right now there are way too many Roombas in this room, and they are forming a grid.”

“What?” Shawn asked.

Harris twisted around. “They're forming a grid. Get down.”

“What?” Drew said.

“GET UNDER COVER RIGHT NOW,” Harris yelled at the top of his lungs and everyone in the crowded cafeteria came to a dead stop, heads swiveling in his direction.

Darcy stared at him, her mouth hanging open, a piece of California roll slipping from between her chopsticks. “Have you completely lost it?” she asked, just a moment before Harris wrapped an arm around her shoulders and dragged her off of her chair. She managed a choked off shriek of shock, and then she was flat on her back on the floor, under the table, Harris's body leaning over her.

There was a moment of silence, a single beat and Darcy used it to come up with ten thousand ways that she would kill Harris and make it painful, and then someone was laughing. It wasn't much, a little giggle, but it was like being in High School all over again, and Darcy had HATED high school, really. She hated high school, she hated this, and at that moment, she hated Harris, his hand holding something over her mouth and nose with a firm hand. It was a shirt, she realized, it was his shirt, and it smelled really good. She struggled, trying to kick him or punch him or do anything, and there was a strange, sustained 'pfffffffft' noise.

Then the screaming started.

Darcy froze, and Harris hunched over her, holding her still. Next to her, she realized that Drew and Shawn were under the table, too. “Holy fuck,” Drew said.

“Cover your mouth,” Harris snapped, and Shawn dragged Drew's shirt up over the lower part of his face.

It was over almost as soon as it began, and outside of the table, there was chaos, but Harris pushed away from Darcy, slipping towards the edge of the table. Darcy turned her head, and all she could see were tumbled chairs and legs splattered with red. She made a desperate grab for Harris. “Oh my God,” she choked out. “Oh, my God, oh my GOD.”

His hand covered hers, his fingers squeezing. “It's not blood,” he said. “If it was blood, we'd be able to smell it.”

“NOT HELPING,” Shawn said, and Harris gave them all a reassuring sort of smile.

“Just... Give me a second.” He reached out, his fingers slipping through the shiny red substance that covered the floor. His fingers rubbed together. “It's... Paint.”

With that, he scrambled out from under the cafeteria table. Darcy was right on his heels, her fingers and her knees slipping on the tacky substance that was now on everything. It covered chairs and tables and and the floors and walls and the CEILINGS. SHIELD agents were standing around, coated in red and gold splotches of ink, blinking owlishly and stupidly through their brand new paint jobs.

A Roomba buzzed past, and Darcy choked on a scream.

“Holy fuck,” Drew said, and Darcy glanced back to find him peering over the edge of the table, his eyes huge. For some reason, the view of his wide, shocked eyes and flame tipped, spiked hair peeping over the red-stained tabletop struck her as incredibly funny. 

Judging by the look that Harris gave her, her giggling might have sounded hysterical.

“What just happened?” Drew asked.

“I have no idea,” Harris said, and the words were barely out of his mouth before an alarm started going off. 

“All personnel, this is a containment drill.” Assistant Director Hill's voice was clipped and calm over the speaker system. “Target is Tony Stark, aka Iron Man. Repeat, this is a drill, only a drill, use of force is not approved. Report to emergency stations for further instructions and to be issued non-lethal weaponry.”

“Well, fuck,” Harris said as the cafeteria doors opened and a few agents came hustling in.

“Do we have emergency stations?” Darcy asked. “Aren't our 'emergency stations' somewhere outside of this building, like as far away from this building as we can get?”

“I think we're supposed to evacuate, yes,” Shawn said.

“Let's do that. Let's do that, right now,” Harris said.

“You four!” Agent Sitwell cut through the crowd, heading straight for them. “You clean?” he asked, eyes darting over each of them in turn.

“Depends on who you ask,” Drew said.

“What?”

“Yes,” Harris said before Drew could get another word out. “We didn't get hit.”

Sitwell frowned at them, but he pointed at the far door. “That way. You're still in play, we need all the hands we can get at this point.”

“What does that mean?” Darcy asked, even as they started moving.

“The paint,” he told her. “Everyone that was hit is out of the training exercise.” 

“Who gets the dry cleaning bill?” Darcy asked. “Because I don't know if you noticed, but, wow. This is going to be a hell of a cleaning bill.”

“We're sending that to Stark.” Sitwell was moving fast now, eyes narrowed. “The Roombas hit three places. Cafeteria, the gun range, and the gym. Since it was lunchtime, almost everyone was hit at the same time.” He sounded like he was grinding his teeth down to nothing. “Stark took out about two thirds of active duty SHIELD personnel in a matter of minutes.”

“So we're fucked,” Darcy said.

“Not quite yet, Ms. Lewis.” At the door, Sitwell put his hand on the panel, keeping them there. “How did you avoid getting hit?”

“We went under the table,” Drew said.

There was a moment of silence. “Why.”

“Harris' fault,” Darcy said, pointing at him. Sitwell turned his basilisk gaze on Harris.

“Listen, Coulson said two things at our hiring,” Harris said. “One, not to order the egg salad. Two, not to trust the Roombas.” He paused, pursed his lips. “I did not listen to him about the egg salad. That, that was a mistake. Huge mistake right there. I regretted that.” His shoulders rose and fell in a half shrug. “So, I figured if he was right about that, he was probably right about the Roombas, too.”

Sitwell stared at him. “Okay,” he said at last. “Upstairs. Now.”

“I would like to opt out of this particular exercise, in that Tony will somehow make me regret being in this building at some point, and it will probably be sooner rather than later-” Harris started, but the agent was already gone, halfway across the room, clearing out the people who were still lingering. “I hate everything,” he said, resigned, and shoved through the door.

“Did you really think the Roombas were going to KILL us?” Shawn asked, close on his heels.

Harris' cheeks were flushed as he shoved a hand through his hair. “Look, you spend eighteen months being an involuntary evil minion, you kind of develop reflexes. It's a side effect of the fact that your employers are, in fact, open to the possibility of killing you.” 

“Sad, but true,” Drew said.

Harris' eyebrows arched. “Why did you listen to me?”

“I thought you were nuts and was dragged under the table by this one,” Drew said. He tipped his head in Shawn's direction, his eyelashes fluttering. “My hero.”

“So why did you listen to him?” Darcy asked Shawn.

“I'm of a nervous disposition,” Shawn said. “And when someone starts screaming that I should get to cover, I tend to do it.” He gave Harris a faint smile. “A side effect of being gay and, well, not white, I guess.”

“And that fucking sucks,” Harris said.

“It really does,” Shawn agreed. 

As they started up the emergency stairs, Darcy grabbed Harris' arm. “How, exactly, did you end up in a Hydra facility in the back end of no where?” she asked, her eyes narrowed.

Harris considered that. “Bad choices, bad luck, and a really bad job market,” he said at last, a faint smile creasing his lips. He shrugged again. “It's complicated?”

Darcy stared at him. “I will break you one of these days, Harrison MacIntyre. I will crack you like a delicate little egg.”

“It's comments like that that make me wary about your intentions, you realize that, right?”

“It's totally fine, we can have sex first.”

“What is WRONG with you, Darcy?” he asked, but he was laughing, so Darcy just put her hands on the small of his back and pushed him up the stairs.

“Wanna find out? Buy me dinner first.”

“I'd offer lunch but our cafeteria has apparently been transformed into a biohazard, so...”

“That's okay, I'm flexible. We can wait until they evacuate the 'bodies.'”

“This is going to end so, so badly.”

"This exercise, or this relationship?"

"We don't have a relationship."

"Whose fault is that?"

"So, so badly."

*

“Take a pistol,” Clint said. “We need shooters.”

“That's a really bad idea,” Darcy told him. “Honestly. I am the usually the first one to be eager for action, Barton, you know this. But honestly. Bad idea.”

“Oh, think I'm not aware of that?” Clint asked, and he pointed across the range. “Get a rifle, Andy Oakley, you can actually shoot.”

Drew snapped a salute, his eyes dancing. “I do so love shooting things,” he chirped, before bouncing away, humming.

“Was that 'Can't Get a Man With a Gun?'” Darcy asked Shawn.

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, it was.”

“Somehow not surprised.”

Harris took the paintball pistol that Clint handed him, his expression resigned. “I'm guessing you're rather short on manpower,” he said, and Clint's look could've stripped paint from metal.

“I am giving Darcy a weapon. Voluntarially,” he pointed out. He shifted his weight, his quiver bumping against his hip. “I am giving Darcy a weapon in a game that I'm participating in. That should give you a hint as to just how desperate we are right now.”

“Screw you, birdbrain,” Darcy said, her eyes narrowed. “I- Screw you.”

Clint grinned at her. “We need cannon fodder.” His hand clapped on her shoulder. “And despite the stupid shit you've pulled, Stark has proven resistant to having you killed.”

“He threatens. A lot,” Darcy pointed out. Clint handed a pistol to Shawn, who immediately started checking it over, his dark brows drawn down over his eyes.

“And he hasn't followed through!” Clint spread his hands. “You stand an excellent chance of making it through this!” 

Darcy snatched the pistol out of his hand. “I hate you.”

“Love you, too, Darce. Try not to shoot yourself in the foot.”

“Very helpful,” Natasha said, walking up behind him. “Do not shoot Clint, Darcy.”

“Why not?” Darcy asked, her eyes still narrowed.

“Because we need him.”

“Feeling the love here, Romanov,” Clint told her.

“What about when we don't need him any more? Then can I shoot him?” Darcy asked.

“The thing about Clint,” Natasha said, “is that just when you think he's outlived his usefulness, he finds some new way to amuse you.”

“I am good like that,” Clint agreed. He gave Natasha a smarmy grin. “You love me.”

Natasha gave him a look. “Not at all.”

“Okay, ladies and gents,” Hill said as she swept into the room, “we don't have much time. Gather around for a thirty second briefing, because Stark is moving through the building, and he's moving fast. We've called in all off-duty personnel, but we need boots on the floor, now.”

Darcy let Shawn nudge her forward. “We are going to get shot,” she said in an undertone. 

“Probably.” He grinned, his face open and cheerful. “Maybe it'll be soon and we can take the rest of the day off.”

“Maybe it'll be soon and we'll spend the rest of the day scrubbing fish oil based paints off of every wall in this building,” Harris said.

“Ray of sunshine, aren't you?” Darcy grumbled under her breath. 

“Realist,” he said. Darcy opened her mouth to say something else, and she didn't even know what, but Harris glanced at her. “But our best best is to actually listen to this.”

“You just have to get the last word, don't you?”

“I honestly think I'll leave that for Agent Hill.”

*

“So this is the best plan that SHIELD could come up with?” Darcy whispered.

“Apparently so.” Harris paused at the corner, his back up against the wall, his weapon at the ready.

“No, seriously, this is the best they can come up with?” Darcy asked. “We have one of the smartest men in the world flying around this building, picking people off at will, and their plan is, use the interns as bait to draw him out.”

“Well, they need data on where he is, and it's not like they could use the actual plan.”

“Is there an actual plan?” 

“I'm told there is,” Harris said. He crouched down, staying low as he looked around the corner. “But I don't know what it is. They think I'll tell Tony.”

Darcy frowned. “Would you?”

Harris glanced at her. “Do you really think that if Stark turns on this place, than being with SHIELD is the winning side? Really?”

She paused. “No. Not at all.”

“Yeah. That's why I can't see the plan.” Harris straightened up. “And that's why we're the bait.”

Darcy's earpiece chirped, and Hill's voice came through. “We have movement on the thirty-second floor, please-” The words died out in a burst of static, making Darcy jump. 

“What the fuck?” She pulled it out, and gave it a shake. “What was that all about?”

“I think that our communications being jammed,” Harris said, already moving. “Go left, stay low, be careful, he's somewhere here!”

“Wait, I don't-”

But Harris was already gone. Darcy's mouth hung over. “The bastard ditched me,” she muttered, jamming her earpiece back in. “Also, he can move fast when he wants to. I mean, I figured that he could-”

“Coming through, Lewis, get out of the way, would you? That's a girl.”

Iron Man shot around the corner with a sudden roar of repulsors, and Darcy bit back a shriek, her teeth clamping down on the sound as he shot past, so close that her vision was red and gold for a second, the glint of metal flashing past, and then he was gone again. Darcy's finger tightened on the trigger, and the paintball thudded harmlessly into the far wall.

“Lewis?” Hill's voice in her earpiece made her jump. “Report.”

Darcy stared at the blue bloom of paint, and cleared her throat. “Just missed him,” she said, and hey, her voice barely shook at all, that was probably a good sign. Also she wasn't screaming, that was an excellent sign. Her eyes slid from one side to the other, and the hallway was empty. She brought the pistol up and shot the SHIELD logo at the end of the hall.

She scored a direct hit on the eagle's head, and immediately felt better.

“Feel better?”

She shrieked and managed not to drop her gun or shoot herself in the face. She whirled around and aimed a punch at Clint's shoulder. “What is wrong with you?” she said. “What is- I could've SHOT you!”

“I was six inches away, I'm pretty sure you would've missed, if you'd tried,” Clint said, and she hit him again, just because he was a jerk. He didn't seem to notice. 

“I will have you know that I'm very effective in certain situations,” she said.

“I'm sure. Moving in,” he said, his fingers against the earpiece. He glanced at Darcy. “Did he hit you?”

“What?”

Clint shook his head. “Did you get hit?”

“Oh! No. He didn't even shoot at me.” Which she kind of resented. It's not that she wanted to be shot. That stuff smelled horrible. And she was pretty sure that getting hit with a paint ball hurt, and she was not a fan of pain. But still. Seemed like she wasn't being taken seriously, and if there was anything that pissed Darcy off, it was not being taken seriously.

Except, of course, when she could make that work in her favor.

Clint appeared at the far end of the hallway, his eyes cutting in their direction for a split second. “Let's go, he's moving fast.” Without waiting for them to respond to that, Clint headed up the hall, moving in the same direction that Tony had. He had his bow on one shoulder and his quiver against his hip.

Darcy, hustling to keep up with Clint's longer strides, glanced at it. The neat, precise rows of arrows didn't look like paint loads. “Uh, is that weapon approved for this particular scuffle?” she asked.

“Keep both hands on your weapon, and if you shoot me in the back, I will never let you live it down,” Clint said. “And if Tony thinks I am going to use a paintball gun, he's crazy.” He drew an arrow, the movement smooth and fluid, the muscles in his shoulders and arms flexing as he set it to the bowstring. Darcy enjoyed the show, smiling to herself. Clint's feet slid over the floor, light and soundless. “Both hands. Pistol.”

“I am, I am,” Darcy said, and yes. She was. Now. 

“Right,” Clint said. He sounded amused. “Let's go. They're closing off his lines of retreat, and they think that he's making a play for Fury's office. Let's go greet him, shall we?”

“Oh, this is going to go well,” Darcy said, on a faint sigh.

*

“This is not going to work,” Drew said.

“It could,” Darcy hissed. “It could work. I mean, I think it would have a better chance of working if Thor or Cap were here, but we've got Nat and Clint, and I need you to stop being so damn pessimistic, Drew. In that it is seriously freaking me out.”

He gave her a look. “It is not going to work,” he told her, but he moved forward anyway when the SHIELD squadron leader gestured. His posture was better than most people's, but most of the people in their group were support staffers. 

Darcy was really disliking the phrase 'cannon fodder' right about now. 

The massive hallway, the last, imposing space en route to Nick Fury's office was now lined with most of SHIELD's remaining agents, taking what cover they could construct and hold, and Darcy hated being in the middle of the damn room, clutching a little paint ball pistol, because she was pretty sure that she wasn't going to die here but if she did she was going to haunt someone forever. Probably Clint. 

“Hold your positions,” Hill's voice came over the earpiece. “He's heading straight for you.”

“Goody,” Darcy said, and then twitched as the floor shook under her feet. “I think he's coming through the walls, did they consider that?”

“I think he just took out a door or something,” Shawn said. He gave Drew a tight smile before adjusting his head gear. “And you're supposed to be with the shooters.”

“I don't trust them. Gonna stay here and die a hero's death.” Drew set his rifle against his shoulder. “Time to hold the line, I guess.”

“You guess, that's what you-” Darcy stopped, her head going around. “Hey, wait, where's-”

Then the doors at the end of the hallway blew off, and Iron Man came in, so hard and so fast that Darcy was actually lifted off her feet, landing hard on her ass as he buzzed past them.

The arrow arched, a perfect shot that caught Tony on the side of the throat and exploded with a crackling whine. For an instant, Tony seemed to hang in mid-air, momentum carrying him forward as the repulsors sorted out, and legs flailing, he crashed to the ground. The EMP was still sparking as he hit, but the armor was a dead weight now. It rolled down the hall, tearing a massive furrow in the carpet before crashing into the wall.

He hit so hard that the floor seemed to shake under Darcy's butt. “Holy shit,” she said, and luckily, everyone else was moving forward, charging forward, shooting as they went. Darcy watched, her mouth hanging open, as the agents moved in a tightly controlled phalanx, almost shoulder to shoulder as they advanced. The armor was almost completely obscured by blue and black paint in a matter of seconds.

And then everyone stopped, just stopped, and for an instant, there was stillness.

Natasha's voice snapped over the earpiece, making Darcy jump. “No!” she yelled, just as the chestplate popped open.

Paint sprayed in all directions, sending SHIELD agents stumbling back into the walls and crashing to the floor. The whole thing was over so fast that Darcy didn't even have time to move. In a matter of seconds, every SHIELD agent who'd charged the suit was splattered in paint.

Because there was no one inside that chestplate.

“Is it empty?” Darcy asked, to no one in particular. “Is that armor fucking empty? Have we been chasing an empty suit of armor around the building like a bunch of idiots?”

“It would appear so,” Natasha said, striding in, Clint right on her heels. She sounded amused by that. Darcy resisted the urge to scream.

“What was that?” Shawn said from behind her, and Darcy was going to put bells on all of her friends, she was, she was going to put little collars on them, and little bells, and then they would stop sneaking up on her.

“I have no idea,” she gritted out, pushing herself up. Shawn held out a hand and she took it. “Except, you know, looks like he's not in the armor. Which is a problem. Because why wasn't he in the damn armor?” Her voice had risen to a dangerous pitch. “And where is he?”

“That would be the million dollar question, isn't it?” Tony's voice, from the armor's speakers, was amused. “Think of it like a shell game. There's... Huh. Six suits of armor flying around in there now.”

“No, there aren't,” Natasha said.

“Well, there WASN'T, Agent Know-It-All. Until you dropped this one. Now? There most certainly are.” 

Natasha's eyes squeezed shut. “Hill?” she asked.

“Multiple target signatures, half just entered the building from outside, and half were in the building when they entered the grid.” Hill sounded so mad that the words were just hisses of air in Darcy's ear. She flinched.

“Time to play 'Guess which suit I'm wearing now,'” Tony said. “Jarvis, let's give them some ponderin' music.”

The Jeopardy! Theme music came booming over the building's loudspeakers, and Darcy wondered if this was what hell was like. She was pretty sure it was.

“Great,” Clint muttered. “He's got these things on remote control now.” He leaned over and wrenched his arrow free of the armor's plating.

It came free with a screech of metal on metal, and the visor popped open. The spray of paint was almost anti-climactic.

“See, here's the thing,” Tony's breezy voice said. “You're really predictable, Clint. You can't leave your ammunition behind. You just can't do it. You always retrieve every single one of those shafts. And Nat is always right behind you, watching your back.”

Clint blinked, his eyes white in the spray of gold paint. Behind him, Natasha heaved a sigh, slipping her pistols back into their holsters. Her black uniform was dotted with gold paint, glittering like sequins in the office lights. “You son-of-a-bitch,” she said, without any heat. There was the faintest smile playing around her mouth, a faint echo of amusement.

Clint started swearing in languages that Darcy couldn't even identify, but she knew swear words when she heard them. And those were some pretty awesome swear words.

The speaker in the armor laughed. “And then there were two.”

Nat and Clint exchanged glances. Without even looking, Clint pulled an arrow from his quiver and shot it, point blank range, into the suit. The EMP pulse made the armor twitch, death throes that rattled the arms and legs against the carpet. 

“I really, really hate that guy,” Clint said, scraping paint off of his face.

“I don't know,” Natasha said. A flicker of red paint traced the curve of her cheek, and she grinned, a macabre flash of teeth. “I'm gaining a new appreciation for his tactics.” She turned on her heel, heading up the hallway. “I think I'm going to enjoy watching this.”

“Question,” Darcy said, drawing everyone's attention. She raised a hand. “Has anyone seen Harris?”


	2. Chapter 2

“Reports are rolling in. There were six 'paint bombs' in all, though it appears that the ones sent off-site contained something closer to a powder than paint. Easier clean up, for the most part.” Hill didn't look up from her tablet. “Stark will have to do some work to smooth feathers when this is over, but the damage is minimal.”

Fury gave a snort, staring out the window at the city below. “He's not the only one.” He leaned forward, bracing one hand against the window. “We having any luck pinning down how he's controlling the armors?”

“He cleared out most of our active duty tech support staff,” Hill said. “The few that escaped the original attacks are working on triangulating his location, but the suits appear to be part of a closed circuit system. Which could mean that Stark, or even Jarvis, is controlling them all remotely, or it could mean-”

“That he's in one.” Fury reached up, rubbing hard at the bridge of his nose. “Take them all out.”

“He's made no move towards this level again,” she pointed out.

“Rules are, he's gotta get my name plate in order to win.” Fury turned away from the window, reaching a hand out as he crossed the office. Hill handed over the tablet as he stalked by. “He'll come. Right now, he's playing. Let's make that painful for him.”

“Yes, sir.”

Fury collapsed into his chair. “And move with the contingency plan.”

The beat of a pause before Hill said, “Yes, sir,” was almost nonexistent. Anyone who wasn't intimately familiar with her wouldn't have noticed it at all.

Phil knew her very, very well.

He waited until she left the office before he said, “This is a very bad choice, sir.”

Fury didn't even look up from his tablet. “Why should I listen to you, Phil? You're dead.”

“Well, according to my employment contract, that doesn't actually change the fact that I'm still expected to show up for work,” Phil said. He crossed his arms over his chest, rocking forward. “Think of me like the ghost of Hamlet's father, here to read you the riot act.”

Fury leaned back in his chair, his mouth a thin line, the furrows of his forehead sharp. “See, this is why I can't let you stay dead. I know you will haunt my ass, and I'm not spending the time or money in R&D to figure out how to shoot a damn ghost.” He stabbed a finger in Phil's direction. “Stark is doing what needs doing to win. Seems rather short sighted if we don't do the same.” He pushed himself up, his fingers spread across the surface of his desk, his shoulders hunched forward. “I'll be damned if he sweeps us off the map without breaking a sweat.”

Phil released his breath in a faint, barely there sigh. “How much of this was you trying to do intelligence gathering on just how bad it would be if Stark turned on you?” he asked, his voice subdued.

Fury's jaw set. “That's a hell of an accusation, Agent.”

“Actually, it's not, sir. I didn't ask if this was about manipulating Stark, Nick, because we both know that's why you pushed him into this corner. I don't think you expected quite this level of push back,” Phil said. His head tipped forward, his eyes flicking down, then back up to pin Fury in place. 

For a moment, there was silence. “He's not the only one who's pushing the limits of what I will put up with,” Fury said at last. “You are perilously close to the edge of my patience, Coulson.”

“For one, I'm dead, what've I got to be scared of?” Phil asked, a faint smile curving his lips. “For another? It's not the first time I've died in the line of service, sir, so I think, out of everyone in this building, I'm the one who gets to ask the tough questions.”

“You're a pain in my ass, Coulson, you know that, right? You and your whole-” Fury waved a hand in Phil's general direction. “Entourage.”

Phil's jaw dropped, just the tiniest bit. “Really? You're trying to blame me for the Avengers Initiative? They were your idea, your-”

“You were supposed to be keeping them in line. You are one of our best, and you are supposed to-”

“I'm also not super powered,” Phil pointed out. “There's only so much I can do.”

“You could try a little harder, Phil.” Fury walked around the desk and slumped into one of the visitor's chairs to Phil's right. “It's a hell of a thing,” he said. 

“I just think-” Phil started, and the comm system on Fury's desk chirped.

Fury gave it a narrow-eyed look. “Go ahead.”

“Twenty-six agents from the Quebec office arrived, responding to the call for reinforcements.”

Fury stared at nothing in particular, his face resigned. “And?”

“They didn't make it past the lobby, sir.”

Fury's eye closed. “Get Banner here, now.”

Phil sighed. This was not going to go well.

*

Bruce Banner blinked at them from behind the lenses of his glasses. “You want me to join in a paintball fight?” His eyes darted around the room, as if seeking an escape route. “You realize that's a horrible idea, don't you? I mean, wow. That, that is a horrible idea.”

“We don't want you to join in,” Hill said. Her attention was split between the conversation, and the tablet that she was using to monitor and dispatch what troops they still had left. Phil caught a glance as she paced past, and could barely suppress a flinch. She cut a look in his direction, clearly agreeing with his silent assessment of their chances. “We need you to talk to him.”

“Uh-huh.” Bruce looked at Phil, who let his shoulders twitch in a small shrug. He glanced at Thor, who was not looking pleased with this. “Where's everyone else?”

“Cap is out rallying the troops,” Fury said, the words smooth. As if that was the only reason why he hadn't informed Steve of this particular meeting.

“The others have fallen in battle,” Thor said. 

Bruce took a deep breath. “Yeah. Okay.”

“We need you to take a look at some of our data,” Fury continued, ignoring both interruptions. “We need your help to break into his systems, find out what he's up to. And see if he's in ours.”

Bruce was already shaking his head. “That's not my specialty. I mean, I'm able to get done what needs doing, but you're asking me to go head to head to him on that end of things? I'm not going to win that fight. You've got people who are better than me at that.”

“We lost most of our support staff in the initial attacks,” Hill explained. It sounded like the words pained her, but her face was a blank mask of professionalism. “Out of anyone on the roster, you're the most familiar with Stark's tech. You might not be an expert on these sorts of systems, but you are a specialist on his.”

“Uh-huh.” Bruce shoved a hand through his hair, further disordering it. “Fine. I'll take a look, but I can't promise anything. You just want me to talk to him?”

“If you would,” Hill said. “I think that we can bring this to an end.”

Bruce's head rolled in her direction, his dark brows throwing shadows over his eyes, making his expression hard to read. “I thought Steve was the bait in this particular trap, and not me. In that making it be me, uh, let's just say, I don't see that working out well.”

“This is cowardly and underhanded,” Thor groused. His arms were crossed tight over his chest, his biceps bulging as he shifted position. There was the faintest crackle in the air, a thin hiss of static that Phil had learned to recognize and respect.

“This is necessary,” Fury shot back, his dark eye cutting towards Thor, narrowed into a tight slit. “We're not asking for a fight out of you, Banner, just a few words.”

Bruce sighed, one hand coming up to tug his glasses off. “I really- I just don't think this is a good idea,” he said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. 

“I'm open to a better one,” Phil said, and Fury flicked a glance in his direction.

“You, Agent Coulson, got yourself killed, so you don't really have a place in this discussion,” Fury said.

“That's... Not comforting,” Bruce said. 

“I'm rather enjoying not being part of this,” Phil told him.

Bruce's smile was small and fleeting, but real. “Yeah, I envy you.”

“Thor has agreed to go along and provide you protection,” Fury said. 

“For the good of all,” Thor said. “But only if you wish it.”

Bruce took a deep breath. “Fine.” He pulled his hand from his pockets. “Just remember, you wanted me to be involved here. It wasn't my choice.” His lips twitched up. “Or Tony's.” His hands flicked down, so fast that it made Phil recoil, but it wasn't far enough. Bruce's hands slapped down on the desktop with a crack, and there was an echo, a snap like something breaking. 

Then green exploded in all directions.

“So. Smash,” Bruce said, in the stunned silence that followed. He reached up and pulled his glasses off, leaving a mask like patch of clean skin on his face as he started to shake the green powder off of the lenses. “And we are all, one and all, out of this little game.”

There was a moment of stunned, utterly stunned silence.

“Tony figured this was coming,” Bruce continued, his voice calm. He shook out one arm, pulling the tail of his shirt out of his pants and used the end of it to wipe his glasses clean. “He said he wasn't going to involve me, that he was specifically going to request that I not be involved, but that he couldn't promise that you would, you know, follow the rules.”

He paused. “I guess he knew you wouldn't. Because then he gave me those, since you know. A paintball gun really isn't- It's not my style. So he gave me a weapon that's a little more me.” His lips twitched again, a flash of white teeth in his green-covered face. “A bit more both of us. So I would be armed in case someone else chose to involve me. So at that point, I could choose for myself what side I was going to come down on.”

Bruce put his glasses back on. “I had a while to think about it, and you know what?” He gave them a thin-lipped smile, his chin up at an obstinate angle. “And decided that when it comes down to it, I really didn't want to be involved in SHIELD's little games.”

He glanced around. “If that's all, I'm going to, you know, head back to the lab. That okay?”

No one said a word.

“Okay, then.” He headed for the door, his strides long and easy, and just as he reached it, he paused, and turned back. “I'm going to get something to drink, actually, that's- Thor, you wanna get a coffee or something?”

Thor was chuckling to himself, a low, easy rumble that still shook the floor. “Such a thing would be welcome, since I appear to be no longer needed here,” he said, shoving a hand through his hair and setting off a dust cloud of green. He held up a hand, and the color cracked every time he moved, the powder shedding off of his skin and clothes in swirling wisps. He grinned, his teeth brilliant white against his green face. “Mayhap a moment to undo the damage you've done, though.”

Bruce grinned back. “Sorry about that,” he said. “I'll buy.”

Thor inclined his head. “Thank you. 'Tis most kind of you.”

The door closed after them, and the silence was deafening.

“That went better than I thought it would,” Phil said. Maria looked at him, her head swiveling slowly in his direction. There was something sharp and deadly in her eyes, and the fact that her eyelashes were dusted with bright green powder didn't detract from that. Phil shrugged, because the more of this he left on Fury's carpet, the better off he'd be. “It did.”

“You really imagined it could go worse than that,” she said, her voice flat. “How, exactly?”

Phil glanced over. “The Director's still standing.”

“Barely,” Fury said at last. He stalked over to his desk and threw himself down behind it, every inch of his green covered form vibrating with something just barely under control. From the pocket of his coat, he pulled a massive, clearly customized paint-ball gun, and set it down in front of him. It gleamed, clean and bright, against the green covered desk. Phil considered pointing out that he was now out of the game.

But he somehow got the feeling that the sentiment wouldn't be well received.

“What now, sir?” Hill asked, scraping a hand over her face. “We're down to Rogers.”

“And I do not think he'll approve of what just happened,” Phil said, meticulously shaking the powder from his suit jacket. He removed it with care, half amused by the perfect green V that went down the front of his shirt. Luckily, this stuff didn't seem to be sticking, with a shake, the majority of it floated free of his jacket.

Before Fury could reply, there was a strange, muffled knock at the door. Phil glanced at Fury, who rubbed his forehead. He flicked a hand at the door, and Phil slipped his coat back on as he crossed over to it. Bracing himself, he opened the door. His shoulders relaxed. “Oh. It's you.”

He stepped aside, peeling the Post-It note off of the top of Mr.Fantastic the special Roomba as the little mechanical monster floated past. He squinted at it. “'Sorry for the mess,'” he read aloud. “'Maid service is free of charge.'”

All three of them watched as the Roomba seemed to shudder in mid-air, spinning in a circle, then whirling around, as if overwhelmed by the sheer amount of green dust that it had to play with. It lowered itself to the ground with a mechanical sigh of escaping air, and purred as it set to work.

“He sent that thing here to get the damn name plate,” Fury said. He slumped down in his chair as the Roomba made quick work of the green dust.

Phil considered it. “I doubt it. It's a little too hands off for him. He'd want to rub it in your face.” He paused. “I'm honestly surprised he let Bruce take you out.”

“How long has he been planning this?” Maria asked.

“For a long time,” Phil said. He watched, suspicious, as Mr. Fantastic swept his way up the wall and buzzed across the ceiling. “And I don't-” He broke off. “Do not think that I haven't noticed that you are trying to get closer to me without seeming like you're getting closer,” he told the Roomba. “Don't even-”

The Roomba scootched closer. Paused. Spun. Scootched closer again.

“You aren't cute.”

Mr. Fantastic crept forward another inch with a faint whine. Phil gave up.

“I'm done here,” he announced, keeping his eye squarely on the damn dust-sucker. “I'm going to go change into something that won't attract robotic locusts.”

And then he was going to get a drink. This nightmare was almost over.

*

The one occupant of Tony Stark's Super Secret Speakeasy didn't even look up as Phil slipped through the door. “Hello, sir,” Harris said from behind the bar. There was a sign pinned to his shirt that said, 'I am a hostage, please don't shoot me.' “Drink?”

“Are you tending bar? Really?” Phil asked, ambling across the room. “Hello, Tony.”

There was no reply, and Harris' eyes flicked towards the ceiling, a half-hearted roll of his eyes. “I got bored with standing around and being a hostage, so I figured I could make myself useful,” Harris said. “He knows you're in here, Tony.”

“You are the worst minion ever,” Tony told Harris, stepping out from behind the kitchen door. His suit jacket was gone, his tie loose, and he had a crystal tumbler of something that looked like scotch in his hand. He appeared to be unarmed, but a paint-ball pistol lay, gleaming and silver, on top of the bar. “I see your suit survived, Agent.”

“This is my backup suit,” Phil said. “Bruce killed me.” He took a seat at the bar with a sigh. “Or re-killed me. That's two for six, for the team.”

“Really?” Tony leaned back against the bar. One dark eyebrow arched as he took a sip of the liquor. “I have trouble imagining that Clint and Romanov haven't-”

“Not during this particular exercise,” Phil said. He considered the bar. “Tom Collins?”

“A fine choice,” Harris said, reaching for a bottle of gin.

“How'd Bruce do?” Tony asked.

“Took out the whole room like a trooper.” Phil's eyes flicked towards Tony. “How did you know that Thor would be there?”

Tony hummed into his drink. “If he hadn't been, Bruce would've been backing out of the room before he was fully in it. It might've been Clint, there was always a chance it would be him, but when it comes down to it?” Tony shrugged. “Thor's the safety blanket there, and if there was any chance of them using Bruce, they'd need to have Thor in the room.”

Harris set a glass down in front of Phil, perfectly garnished with orange and a maraschino cherry. Phil considered it. “I feel the urge to tip you.”

“I'm not going to dissuade you on that one, sir, my salary is pathetically low,” Harris said, making himself a drink. Phil was pretty sure it was a Shirley Temple.

“I'm not listening to this,” Tony said, “because you could be making so much more money if you just-”

“I am not working for you,” Harris said. “Dear God, no. That is, that is a horrible idea,” he told Tony, who was grinning.

“I'll get you eventually.”

“This has to violate some HR rules, right?” Harris asked Phil.

Phil's lips pursed as he considered. “Probably,” he said. 

“Probably?”

“It's SHIELD, I think that the HR department is more used to dealing with people, you know, dealing with things themselves,” Tony said. “Often with gunplay.”

“That does tend to settle things,” Phil agreed. He gave Harris' sign a sideways glance. “And how did you end up here, Paddington Bear?”

“He grabbed me off of the street,” Harris said, deadpan. 

“He is full of lies,” Tony said, wandering back behind the bar. He reached for the bottle of scotch. “He came down here on his own.”

“I wanted a drink,” Harris said. “Ended up with a paintball pistol pointed at the base of my skull.” He shrugged. “Not the first time it's happened, but it's disconcerting every time.”

“He knew I was down here,” Tony said. He poured himself a drink with one hand, studying his phone with the other. “He just wants to avoid prosecution for jumping sides.”

“Your side gets my arms broken,” Harris said.

“One time. One time! It was one arm, I really don't know what your problem is, Harrison.” Tony flicked his thumb across the screen, and tucked his phone back into his pocket. “You hold a serious grudge, really, it wasn't even both arms.”

“I cannot imagine why I don't want to work for you,” Harris said.

“Speaking of holding grudges, how, exactly, are you going to deal with the fact that two thirds of SHIELD personnel in this city are going to be cursing you as they scrape paint out of their pores tonight?” Phil asked, nursing his drink. “Not to mention Logan. He's not known for his sense of humor.”

“Or his love of showers, but you know, he could use one.” Tony waved him off. “Fury's the only one who's gonna be dealing with that. What I was using was a new chemical compound, I came up with it. Pretty straightforward, it's got a strong pigment and staying power, but once it's exposed to air, it starts breaking down. In about an hour, it can be washed off with ordinary soap and water.” He jammed a swizzle stick between his teeth and wandered back over to the bar, collapsing onto a stool. “If I can patent it and get it into actual production, it might end up turning a profit.”

Phil stared at him. “StarkIndustries is going into selling paint-ball supplies?”

“StarkIndustries does a lot of things,” Tony pointed out. “Mostly sell things that make me money.”

“Only you could get roped into a training exercise and come out with a new product line.”

“Yeah, well, these things happen.” Tony's arm snapped up and out, his body twisting around on the stool, the gun aimed and ready to fire in one smooth motion. “Hi, Steve.”

“Hello, Tony.” Steve was smiling, just a little, that faint little half-smile that he seemed to wear around Tony a lot. He was standing just inside the door, his hands in his pockets, his shield on his back. He didn't appear to be armed, but Phil picked up his drink and moved to the far end of the bar, anyway. Harris beat him there, as far from the potential confrontation as he could get.

Without being asked, he slid a glass of water, garnished with lemon, across the bar, and with his other hand, he poured himself what appeared to be a measure of straight tequila. Phil gave him a look, and Harris shrugged. “I deserve it.”

Tony's eyes flicked in their direction. “Cowards,” he said. He drained his glass and turned around to face Steve, his gun never wavering. “Sorry, Cap, this is a private party.”

“Figured my invitation got lost in the mail.” His shoulders rose and fell in a faint shrug. “The mail room doesn't seem to like me some days.”

“Probably has something to do with the bags of fan mail that they're forced to deal with,” Tony said. He set his glass down on the bar behind him, giving it a bit of a spin as he released it. The sound of the ice cubes settling was obscenely loud in the quiet space. “I'd offer you a drink, but you were just leaving.”

“Just got here,” Steve pointed out, and for the first time since he had walked in, he took a step forward. Tony stood to meet him, and Phil waited for a tumbleweed to go rolling through the standoff.

“And you are now just leaving,” Tony said, his voice calm. “I really do not want to shoot you. But I will.”

Steve was still for a second, and then he took a step forward. And another. He reached up, his gesture smooth and easy, and pulled his shield off his back. He set it down on a table as he passed and continued forward, his hands empty at his sides. “No. You won't.”

“All I have to do is pull the trigger,” Tony said.

“That's true,” Steve said, still smiling. “But you won't.”

“I've taken out everyone else,” Tony said, his teeth flashing in a grin. “I do want to win this thing, you know.”

“You're very competitive, it's true,” Steve said. And he took a step forward. “But I don't think you give a damn about winning. In that you are down here, nursing a scotch and soda instead of upstairs, trying to get into Fury's office.”

Tony didn't so much as flinch. His stance was perfect, his arm steady. “I will shoot you.”

“I think you're pissed that we made you do this. And you don't want to win. You just want us to lose.” Steve took another step. “So, no. You won't.” 

“I shot Coulson,” Tony pointed out.

“He took me out first,” Coulson said to Harris. “I'm flattered.”

“I'd be grateful, personally.”

“That, too.”

“But you won't shoot me.” Steve took another step forward, and he was so close now that if Tony leaned forward, even a few inches, the barrel of the paint ball pistol would've brushed Steve's forehead. “You can't shoot me.”

“You don't think so?” Tony asked, amusement saturating his words.

“If you wanted to take me out of the scenario, you needed to do it early, and you needed to do it from a distance,” Steve said. “But this?” He shook his head. “Not like this.”

“It won't even make a lasting mark,” Tony said. His head tipped to the side, his hand rock steady. He smiled, his lips curling up in a wicked little smirk. “The way you heal? The bruise'll be gone by tonight.”

“You're probably right.” Steve's eyes closed, his head tilting forward, just a fraction of an inch. “Go ahead then.”

“Don't push me,” Tony said. His lips thinned, his smile flattening out. “It hasn't worked out well for anyone today, has it?”

“No. It hasn't.” Steve looked at him, his gaze steady. “Pull the trigger, Tony.”

There was a long, tense moment, and no one moved. Tony never wavered, his arm steady as a rock, his face a blank mask. Steve's eyes closed, his exhale audible. Coulson didn't move, barely breathed, as, eyes still closed, Steve reached up and caught Tony's hand, his fingers wrapping around Tony's wrist. He tipped the gun away from his face, his eyes at half mast, a faint smile on his face. “You could. If you had to,” he said, his voice quiet. “But you don't have to. And I don't think you want to.”

Tony's jaw worked, the muscles jumping, and his eyes closed. “Goddammit, Steve.” 

The double retort of a gun made them all jump.

“Oh, my GOD,” Darcy said, her hand dropping to her side, the paintball pistol dangling from her fingers. “Get a damn ROOM. It's like the start of a porno in here, I cannot even believe you.”

“Ow,” Tony said, reaching up to touch his shoulder. His fingers came away covered in blue ink. “Ow!” he repeated, sounding shocked by that. “You shot me!”

“Yes, I did,” she said, her pointy little chin pointed up. “Shot Captain America, too.”

“You shot Captain America in the back,” Coulson said, sipping his Tom Collins. When Darcy looked in his direction, he arched his eyebrows. “That's cold.”

“I am a stone cold killer,” Darcy said.

Steve craned his head over his shoulder. The paintball splotch was right in the middle of his shoulderblades. “Yes, you are,” he said, sounding amused. “May I ask why? We were on the same team.”

Darcy's lips pursed and she leveled he paintball pistol in their general direction, her pose half-way presentable as she braced the gun with both hands. Coulson approved. Fromm, or more likely Clint, had apparently been forcing her to pay attention. “You were going over to the other side. The bad side. The, you know.” Her eyes narrowed. “The Stark Side.”

“While the Stark side is undeniably awesome,” Tony said, scraping at his shirt with one disdainful finger, “he was not coming over to the Stark side. He was clearly talking me down.”

“Okay, fine. You were in my way,” Darcy told Steve. “Figured if I shot you, you'd move.”

Tony gestured towards Darcy with both hands, his face twisting in a 'really, we're doing this, really?' expression. Coulson shrugged. “She fits right in,” Coulson said, just a tad apologetic about that.

“Aw, Phil, see, I knew we were friends,” Darcy said, grinning at him.

“I would not go that far, Ms. Lewis.”

“I know the truth, Agent Starchyshorts.” She sashayed over to the bar, her hips swinging. “Hey,” she said, leaning over the polished surface. Coulson took the pistol away from her before she shot him in the groin or something equally humiliating. 

“Hey,” Harris said from behind the bar, where he was stocking the glasses, and trying to hide a smile.

“You planning on, you know, helping?” she asked. “Like, at all?”

Harris stood up, wiping his hands on a bar towel. He glanced around. “You seemed to have everything under control. Shot Captain America in the most cowardly way possible, and then killed his grieving best friend in cold blood.”

“Were you grieving?” Steve asked Tony.

“In shock,” Tony explained. “Not enough time for real grief to kick in.” He scrubbed at his shoulder. “That really hurt, did you know that?”

“I am aware of just how badly that hurts,” Phil told him.

“I sound really metal when you put it that way.” Darcy turned around, leaning back against the bar, and braced her elbows against the wood. She nodded a little to herself, looking pleased. “I am badass.”

“You are a danger to yourself and others,” Coulson told her, because it needed saying.

“Also badass,” she said. She smirked at him. “This is good. I like this.”

“What are you even doing down here?” Tony asked. He was still frowning down at his chest. “I liked this shirt.”

“Should've thought of that before you started a war with paint,” Steve told him.

“I did, I just didn't think I was actually going to get shot,” Tony said. “I have people for that.”

“I am here,” Darcy said, making an effort to look badass, and it wasn't a bad effort, really, “because you kidnapped Harris.”

“Aw, did you come to save me?” Harris grinned at her. “That's sweet. Psychotic, but sweet.”

“Psychotically sweet?” she asked.

“Little bit.”

“But still. I saved you. From the dragon,” Darcy pointed out. 

“Tony is a dragon now?” Steve said, taking a seat at the bar. Harris poured him a V8 and pushed it across to him. “Thank you.”

“He flies, there's fire, he's red, got piles of gold and treasure, and virgins get sacrificed to him,” Darcy pointed out, and Steve choked on his drink. “What? That is accurate. He's pretty dragony.”

“Willingly,” Tony said, leaning on the bar, his arms folded on the edge. Coulson glanced at him. He was looking smug. “Virgins sacrifice themselves willingly. I think that's an important point here.”

“I'll give you that,” Darcy said. She leaned turned around, bouncing up and against the bar. “I saved you.”

“That's true, I guess,” Harris said, his lips twitching. “Your point?”

“I was promised your hand in marriage.”

Harris gave her a look. “By whom, exactly?”

“It really doesn't matter.”

“It was Drew, wasn't it.”

“It was Drew,” Tony agreed. “Martini, dirty, extra olives.”

“I am not your bartender,” Harris said, even as he reached for the gin. 

“You're not my bartender, you're not my minion, what are you?”

“Resigned,” Harris said.

“ANYWAY,” Darcy said, slapping her hand on the bar, “who promised me your hand is not important, what is important is that it happened.” Harris gave her another look, and she grinned. “It is a binding legal contract, bitches.”

“What did he do, trade me for a can of soda?” Harris asked, pouring the gin with a practiced hand.

“It was gum,” she admitted. Harris gave her another look, this one kind of appalled. “It was like, the expensive gum. A whole pack.”

“I cannot believe I lost to you,” Tony said. He hid his smile behind the wide lip of his martini glass.

“I know, it's wild, isn't it?” she said, grinning at him. “Who would've thought?”

“Not me,” Coulson said.

“That is because you lack imagination. And faith,” she told him. “Also, let's be honest here? Probably a sense of humor.”

“I don't know. I'm well known for my repertoire of knock-knock jokes,” he said, deadpan. Harris choked on a laugh.

“Being known for something isn't always a good thing,” she pointed out. “Just saying.” She turned back to Harris. “Your hand. Mine.”

“Sorry, I'm a strong, independent man who don't need no woman,” Harris said. “I'll make you a drink.”

“That's a pretty fucking sucky consolation prize.”

“It's more that you're a lot easier to distract when you're tipsy.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Dammit. You do know me.”

“Yeah. I'm as terrified as you are.” He slid a glass across the counter to her. “Agent Coulson? Buy you a drink, sir?”

“Why does he get a 'sir?'” Tony asked.

“He hasn't tried to kill me recently,” Harris said. “Agent Coulson?”

Phil gave up. “Scotch. On the rocks, please.”

“Not from my stash,” Tony told Harris.

“You shot the man in the face,” Steve pointed out, his eyebrows arched. “You shot him. In the face. You really don't think you owe him a drink?”

Tony winced behind his glass as everyone else looked at him with varying expressions of disapproval. “That's all right,” Coulson said, and it was a struggle not to smile, not the way he wanted to. He kept it small and easy, the sort of smile he allowed himself on the job. “You can just owe me.” 

“Take the bottle,” Tony told him.

“Thank you,” Phil said, as Harris set the bottle in front of him. “Very generous of you.”

“You're still going to have to spend the next six months or so in hiding,” Steve pointed out. “Clint is...” His lips twitched up. “He's not happy with you right now.”

“He needs to be less predictable,” Tony said.

“Natasha agrees, but I don't think she's on your fan list right now, either,” Steve said.

“I can handle the Stabby Twins.” 

“You really cannot, but I look forward to watching you try,” Phil said. He poured himself a stiff measure of the alcohol, savoring the rich aroma that rose from the amber liquid. “It should be amusing.”

“I still win,” Tony pointed out.

Phil smiled. “I think we can all assume that if you do decide to break with your current set of moral and legal standards, it'll be for a very good reason.” He took a sip of his scotch. It burned in the best possible way. “And that this was a scenario no one was going to win.”

“I win,” Tony repeated. “I was the last one down. For a brief moment, between when Lady Galahad over there shot Steve and when she shot me, I was the last man standing.”

“Yes, but you needed to get Fury's nameplate in order to win,” Phil pointed out. “And you never even got close.”

“Fuck that,” Tony said. “I won. In all the ways that would matter during combat conditions. Some trinket doesn't really-”

Steve tossed the name plate onto the bar, and everyone just stared at it in silence.

“Question,” Darcy said. 

Steve sipped his drink. “Yes?”

“Did you actually- I mean-” Her lips pursed tight. “Did you betray us all?” 

Steve's eyebrows arched. “It would appear so.” His smile was sly. “Or I just chose my own side.” He paused, his glass halfway to his mouth. “Following orders sometimes gets in the way of doing what's right.”

“You are unbelievable,” Tony said, but he was grinning, wide and bright. “You are absolutely- How did you get it out of Fury's office without him noticing?”

Steve gave a snort. “Please. He traded it with Maria's before this whole mess started. He wouldn't have left it there in his office, where it could easily be picked up.”

“So, you just walked in there and took it?” Harris asked, taking his empty glass from him.

“Well, of course,” Steve said. 

“They didn't have it guarded?”

“They did. But...” Steve's lips twitched up in a lopsided smile. “I told them Fury sent me. Who would question me?”

Phil was the first one to start laughing. 

“I still think I won,” Darcy said to Harris, as Tony collapsed against the bar, laughing so hard that he was nearly crying. Steve grinned at him, still sipping his vegetable juice. After a moment of struggling to get himself under control, Tony reached out, snagging the front of his suit in one fist, and dragged Steve in for a kiss.

“I'm not arguing with you,” Harris told her.

“I am,” Phil said, between bursts of giggles. He pressed a hand to his eyes. “I, for one, refuse to be part of any sort of exercise where you are the winner.”

Darcy pouted in his direction. “No one's listening to you, you were literally, I would like to point out here? You were literally the first person to lose.”

“And I'm grateful for that,” Phil told her.

“What'd we miss?” Bruce asked as he crossed the floor to the bar “I ask, uh, because Tony's got Steve bent back over the bar, and that's not something Steve usually does.” He paused. “In public, at least.”

“I think adding 'in public' was the best thing you could do there,” Natasha agreed, a step behind him. “See? Told you that if we found Coulson, we'd find the rest of them.”

“We were heading down here, anyway,” Bruce told her. 

“Such a day called for a greater reward than a coffee, as fine a drink as that is,” Thor said. He patted Tony on the shoulder in passing. Tony didn't seem to notice. He had better things to do, and all of them involved Steve.

“They're so cute,” Darcy said to Natasha as Harris handed her a drink that involved two straws, three cherries, a little paper umbrella and a lot of pink. She hooked her thumb in his direction. “I saved Harris.”

“It's true, she did,” Harris said, grinning. “She's my hero.”

Clint boosted himself onto the stool next to Darcy. “Yeah?” he asked, grinning at her.

“I also killed Captain America. In cold blood,” she said.

“She didn't even pause,” Phil told him. “Just... Shot him in the back.”

“That's a little worrying, gonna be honest,” Clint said. He leaned his folded arms on the bar. “Hand me a beer, Harris?”

“Are they going to come up for air?” Natasha asked, snagging the beer that Harris tried to hand Clint. “Thank you.”

Tony pulled away from Steve, his face flushed, his breathing ragged. “What are you all doing here?” he asked, his voice rough. “Seriously. Why-”

“You owe everyone a drink,” Steve said. He kept one arm around Tony's waist. His hair was a mess, but he was smiling.

“I- I owe everyone a drink?” Tony gaped at him. “How do you figure? Really. What is the logic here?”

“You owe everyone a drink,” Clint agreed. He took a beer from Harris. “Paint up my NOSE, you bastard.”

“You deserved it,” Tony shot back.

“Probably,” Clint agreed. 

“I'd like to remind everyone,” Darcy said, “that I won.” She ignored the chorus of cries from the group, and grinned at Harris. “I won.”

“So I hear,” he said. “Drinks are on me.”

“All the drinks are on Stark,” Darcy said. “Oh, speaking of, better tell Drew and Shawn where we are.” She pulled out her phone.

Phil held his up. “I already sent it out on the internal channels.”

“Did you tell them I won?” she asked, and laughing, Thor wrapped an arm around her shoulders and kissed her on the top of her head. “What? This is important information, Sparky!”

“I am well sure that all will be made aware,” he said, and Darcy grinned down at her phone.

“I gotta tell Jane!”

“Everyone out!” Tony declared, waving an arm. “Betrayers! All of you.”

“Give it up,” Steve said, smiling, his arms still around Tony's waist. “You won.”

“Darcy won,” Tony grumbled. He stopped. “Darcy won.” He looked at Phil. “You're going to tell Fury that Darcy won?”

“I don't see as how I have a choice,” Phil said.

“You don't,” Darcy said without looking up from her phone.

“Oh, I want to be in the ROOM when that happens.”

Phil saluted him with his glass. “I think we owe you that much.”

*

To: Nick Fury, Director of SHIELD  
From: Phil Coulson, Agent of SHIELD

Re: Avengers Initiative  
Attached file: Post-Action Dossier, Stark, Tony Classified, Level 7: (112 KB)

I did try to warn you. Also, the cleaning bill from Xavier's is going to put a definite dent in our bottom line next quarter unless you can somehow convince Ms. Potts to foot the bill. I do not envy you that task.

I'm really not sorry, sir.

-Phil

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